After going through the same old stuff with the madame, Jimmy, with the help of Gabrielle, madame’s nineteen-year-old daughter, finally succeeded in arranging for a dinner of pomme de terre frites and an omelet.

While they were washing up a little bit, Gabrielle told Jimmy that there were three Americans sleeping in the house. The girl told him that the Americans had arrived the night before, tired out and hungry. None of them had got up yet, she told him.

Jimmy was just taking a man’s share of the potatoes when the door in front of him opened.

“Jimmy McGee! You old son of a gun! What in hell!”

“George Neil!” shouted Jimmy as he rushed at the new-comer and nearly bowled him off his feet. “How did you get in here?”

“Cushayed too long and the outfit left me back in some little joint ten kilos or so from Bar-le-Duc. Joyce and Pop Rigney are still cushayin’. Who’s your friend?” asked Neil, pointing to O.D.

“Oh, hell, I almost forgot. This is O.D. Picked him up yesterday; he’s goin’ to the outfit as a replacement. Meet my pal, George Neil, O.D.”

“Glad to know you, sergeant,” said O.D., shaking Neil’s outstretched hand.

“Forget the sergeant stuff, old man. Glad to meet anybody that Jimmy McGee knows. But what did you say that your name was?”

“It’s William G. Preston, but Jimmy—,” answered O.D.

“I changed it to O.D. Don’t you think that’s better, George. Look at the way he’s rigged up,” interrupted Jimmy.

“You’re right, Jimmy. Where did you enlist from, O.D.?” asked Neil.

“He was drafted. But that don’t make any difference. Wasn’t his fault he didn’t volunteer. I got his whole story and it’s straight. He’s one of us from now on and I’m goin’ to get him in the outfit,” declared Jimmy.

“Good stuff—shake on that, O.D.,” and George Neil shook hands with the drafted man to show him how he felt.

“Messieurs, voluez-vous manger?” (Messieurs, will you eat?)

“Bet your life. Oui, mademoiselle, toot sweet,” answered McGee as he began getting chairs up to the table.

“Let those two mopes cushay. We’ll monjay and then call ’em out,” suggested Neil.

In answer to his suggestion the door of the room that he had been sleeping in opened and a bald head stuck out.

“Look out, Pop—cover that bald dome up. You’re too old to be goin’ ’round uncovered,” warned Jimmy.

“I’ll show you how old I am if I get skinned out of those poms and dey zerfs,” shot back Pop Rigney, as he pulled his bald head behind the protection of the door. He began talking to Joyce, who was still in bed, and the men at the table knew that Pop was warning him to dash for the table unless he wanted to starve.

The meal progressed as all meals do when young American soldiers are eating in a French home, with much misunderstanding as to the exact meaning of the things that are said in the French and English languages. Gabrielle laughed over their funny way of talking her native language and tried to help matters by using her only stock and store of English, which was represented by the words “yes” and “finish.”

“I want some water myself,” admitted Jimmy, after finishing his meal, “but I’m scared to ask for it after last night.”

“I’ll ask her,” volunteered Neil.

“Gabrielle,” he called.

She answered with a big, wonderful smile and came over to him.

“Donnay mwa glass de low,” was Neil’s way of telling her his want.

Gabrielle looked helplessly at the empty dishes. A little frown of perplexity showed on her forehead. Gradually the frown was camouflaged by a spreading smile of understanding light.

“Oh, finish?” she asked him.

“Great Lord, ’ain’t she got wonderful blue eyes!” ejaculated Neil. “Some of these peasant girls are sure the darb. Wish I could parley her talk.”

“I’ll get that water myself,” said Jimmy, rising. He found a glass and went outside to look for a pump. Gabrielle watched him smilingly, wishing that she could comprehend the wants of the big, good-natured American boys with whom she found it so easy to make friends.

“’Ain’t been over long, have you?” asked Neil of O.D. as Jimmy disappeared through the doorway.

“Just about two months. Spent all my time down at the replacement camps waiting to be sent to some outfit.”

“Well, you are gettin’ in with a darn good outfit and Jimmy’s a great guy for a friend. He’ll show you ’round the front.”

“Guess I’ll feel kind of funny going up there with all you fellows that are used to it,” said O.D.

“Not at all; you’ll never know the difference. Two or three days and you’ll think you’ve been there all your life. After a month you’ll hardly ever know you used to live in a house back in the States. Gets in your blood. Just like the mud up there gets all over you. Make friends with the cooties. Then you’re all set,” explained Neil.

“Jerk aloose from that table and let two good men monjay,” shouted Pop Rigney and Joyce, pushing their door open and making for what was left in one of the dishes.

“Meet Jimmy’s friend, O.D. This is Pop Rigney, the oldest man in this man’s army, and the other fellow is Joyce, our supply sergeant.” The men shook hands all around and sat down.

“I got that water. Had to walk almost a mile to find it,” said Jimmy, entering. “Well, Rigney, you old bald-headed monkey, you got up, eh? Guess Joyce’s mess-hound appetite did it. Well, you can monjay what I left.”

Rigney and Joyce got enough by accepting odds and ends. When they finished it was agreed that the party move on and catch the outfit.

“Combien, Gabrielle?” asked Jimmy.

“Dix france, pour tous,” she answered. (Ten francs for everything.)

“Not bad at all. Gettin’ kinda sick of the highway-robbery stuff. Guess you’ll have to pay, George; I’m flat,” said Jimmy.

“Oui,” answered Neil. He gave Gabrielle three five-franc notes and told her to keep the change.

“Monsieur, vous donney trop! (you give too much, monsieur) she told him, insisting that he take what was over and above.

“Forget it,” refusing the returned money.

“Merci bien, monsieur,” answered Gabrielle.

Au revoirs were quickly said. The little party of Yanks started off in the general direction of Verdun over the great white highway that many Frenchmen call the “Sacred Road.”

“Got any idea where the outfit is, Joyce?” asked O.D., after two kilometers had been left behind with their hobnail tracks.

“Heard they’re right near Souilly. Believe they’ll hang there a day or so and then go into the lines. Big stuff on up here. Heard about it?”

“Lot of rumors ’bout a big smash, but nothin’ certain. What dope did you get?” asked Jimmy.

“Nothin’ but that everybody from the big guys down are looking for a drive to start and go through to Metz. Dope is we start the push on early in September, about the tenth or so. ’Ain’t got any too much time.”

“Guess we’ll be right up in the front end of this thing. Better get us some new chevaux. I’m tired listening to that ‘Cannoneer on the Wheel,’ stuff,” snorted Rigney.

“If it’ll end this guerre any quicker I’m with ’em to drive all winter,” declared Jimmy.

O.D. listened to his new friends talk about driving and pushing, and many other things that happen only at the front, with the feeling that he was a rank outsider in their company. They spoke so casually of attacking the Germans and taking Metz that O.D. could not dissuade himself from believing that at times war must be a sort of picnic. Yet something told him that while these men spoke as lightly as they did of fighting they knew the hell of it, too. He wondered again and again if when it came his time to learn, as they had done before him, he would be able to accept the fun and hell just as they did. That thought worried O.D. more than anything else.

“How far is that place where you think the outfit is?” asked old Pop Rigney. The five kilometers that brought them to another little village had brought some aches and weariness to his aging limbs.

“Another kilometer or two, I guess,” answered Joyce.

“Better grab a truck. You don’t know where we’re going,” was Rigney’s suggestion.

“Gosh! There’s a Y. M. C. A. sign. Let’s go over and get some cigarettes. No tellin’ if we’ll ever see them again. Gettin’ up close now, you know,” warned Jimmy.

“We’re off,” said Neil.

The quintet made for the Y. M. C. A. hut.

“Any cigarettes?” asked Joyce of the man behind the canteen counter.

“Not to-day. All out of smokings,” was the disappointing answer.

“Any chocolate or cookies?” questioned Jimmy.

“Expect stuff in to-morrow. Hard to get transportation,” curtly.

“Oh, well. We’ll live through it,” said Jimmy.

Once outside Pop Rigney said what he thought.

“What the hell is wrong with them guys? Always the same old stuff—’Out to-day; come to-morrow. I’m off ’em,” declared Pop.

“Damn if I know. Look at the ChÂteau-Thierry times when we never was able to get the stuff. I’m for the Salvation Army every time,” announced Jimmy.

“We used to have darn good Y. M. C. A.’s back at the replacement camps. Always had lots of cigarettes, chocolate, and cakes. Twice a week we had pictures and shows,” stated O.D.

“Sure, ’way back in the S. O. S.—why wouldn’t they have everything? What good is that doin’ the guys up at the front where you can’t buy the stuff. Just like the eats and clothes. Back in the States I guess the folks think that all the good stuff goes up to the fightin’ men. Like hell it does,” snapped Jimmy.

A big green truck approached them.

“Hell, there’s the Regimental Supply truck. Let’s climb on,” shouted Neil as he started running to meet the camion.

“Make it fast, boys,” said Champ, the driver, “I got to get back to camp and make another trip for supplies before night. We’re movin’ up to-morrow, you know.”

“Good stuff. Where ’re we goin’? Anybody know?” asked Jimmy.

“Yep; near a place that sounds like Rupt. Something else tacked onto it, but don’t remember. We’re goin’ to start this drive soon.”

“Gettin’ any fresh beef in for supplies now?” asked Joyce.

“Beaucoup ‘canned willy’; that’s about all,” replied Champ.

“Get ready to monjay that stuff another two months, I guess. Wouldn’t it give a man a pain!” groaned Neil.

“There’s the gang over yonder along that road. See ’em?” asked Champ, pointing to a road over to the left.

“Oui, pretty good camouflage; but you can tell it,” answered Jimmy.

“I don’t see anything. Where do you mean?” asked O.D.

“All along that road. See the tree branches and stuff that looks like it’s growin’ out in the road. That’s the guns and stuff. They’re camouflaged on account of Boche planes. The horses are down in the woods some place,” explained Jimmy.

“I see now what you mean. Gee! that camouflage is fine stuff; I’d never know it was anything from here,” admitted O.D.

“You’ll pick camouflage from the real stuff toot sweet, O.D.; don’t worry.”

“Say, we better hit the road here and slip in. Some boob may ask what we’re doin’ blowin’ in at this time of day,” suggested Joyce.

The crew acted on his advice and approached the camp from the woods.

Just before gaining the fringe of road where pieces, caissons, wagons, and a lot of equipment were hidden beneath newly cut branches, a bugle blasted out “Attention!”

“A Boche plane goin’ over. That means take cover, O.D.,” explained McGee.

A few minutes later the bugle sounded recall and everybody went about their business with little ado.

Jimmy brought O.D. up to Regimental Headquarters, and by a little stroke of army diplomacy got Sergeant-Major Creamer to assign him to Battery C. Later he went to the captain with Jimmy and asked that O.D. be assigned to the same section as himself.

“Put him in your gun crew, if you want to. You’ve got to be acting gunner-corporal now. Corporal Schott went to the hospital with fever,” said the captain.

“Trey-beans,” answered Jimmy. “Thanks beaucoup.”

“Not at all,” answered the C. O.

“Great guy, our old man,” Jimmy told O.D. when they got out of the captain’s hearing. “Just like one of the fellows all the time. We call him Pop Henderson. He knows it, too. I believe you could call him Pop to his face and he’d take it all right. Course we don’t, you know. He’s too good. Bunch of officers like him in this outfit. There ’re cranks and bums in every profession, but our officers are pretty much the darb. Get that way after bein’ up at the front with you a long time, you see.”

“Seemed mighty nice,” said O.D. “Where are we going to sleep to-night, Jimmy?”

“Oh, we’ll rig up our shelter-halves and cushay in the woods some place. Won’t be as good as that Frog bed we hit last night, but say la guerre, you know O.D.”

“I’m willing, Jimmy.”

“This place is as good as any, I guess,” said Jimmy, examining the ground with his foot. “There’s a few damn loots in the way, but if you get yourself wrapped around then you’ll cushay bon.”

Jimmy didn’t try to put the tent up in regulation way. He got a few small branches, a stick or two, and with the poles that O.D. had he made a shelter that would at least keep some wind away or afford protection against rain.

“I lost all my pins and poles ’round ChÂteau-Thierry,” he said in apology for using his bayonet as a tent-pin.

Jimmy had two blankets and O.D. had three. They spread them all out on the ground, tucked in the end near the opening of the tent and crawled between the blankets, leaving two between them and the earth.

“Roll your blouse up and use it for a pillow. Generally I use my gas-mask, sometimes my tin hat, for a pillow, if it’s cold and I’m alone. Neil and I used to cushay together, but he can hang with Pop or Joyce, as he knows how to get along here.”